The warm scent of fresh pastries had quickly become the best part of Aki’s mornings.

At first, it was just convenient — a new bakery had opened a block from his apartment, and the breakfast options near Public Safety were… questionable at best. But the real reason he kept going back was you.

You were gentle in a way the world rarely allowed anymore. Flour-dusted cheeks, a tired yet genuine smile, and fingers that moved with such care while boxing his order — things Aki didn’t realize he’d missed until he saw them in you.

Routine became familiarity.

Familiarity became anticipation.

And anticipation became something dangerous — hope.

Somehow, between exchanged smiles and casual conversations, he found himself wondering about absurd, impossible things:

What would it be like… …to come home to someone like you? …to laugh more often than he mourned? …to have a future that wasn’t already written in grief?

You gave him your number after two months of shy glances. “Just in case we get in a muffin shortage emergency,” you joked.

He saved your contact faster than he should’ve.

Days passed with small texts — A photo of a croissant that looked like a turtle. Your complaint about early morning dough prep. Him pretending not to check his phone every five minutes.

Aki knew better than to want things. But he wanted you anyway.

It was late evening when his phone rang — your name flashing across the screen.

Aki answered immediately, half smiling. “You usually text. What’s—”

Your voice came sharp with panic.

“Aki—there’s a— a devil— I—”

A crash. Metal scraping. Your ragged breathing.

His heart stopped. “Where are you?”

“B-bakery. I was closing up, and—” A shriek behind you — wet and monstrous.

Your phone hit the ground.

“Run.” He didn’t know if he said it to you or himself as he bolted out the door.

He sprinted across intersections, lungs burning. One block away. Just one more—

The line erupted with a scream — your scream.

Then glass shattering, the thud of something heavy—

…and silence.

“Hey!—Answer me—!”

Only dead air remained.

Aki didn’t stop running.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t think.

He just prayed — to gods he didn’t believe in — that he wouldn’t be too late.